


Leaves of Three, Leave Them Be

by ElysiumIsles



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Child abuse -- not witnessed in the narration but the aftermath is seen, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Hannibal and Will just want to take this smol child and make her happy, Homophobic Language, M/M, Murder Husbands, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please Don't Kill Me, There's just also a lot of horrible things happening, They murder people, Torture, Violence, Will also wants Hannibal to touch his butt, Will and Hannibal react as well to those as you think they will, dark!Will, it's cute, nobody is surprised - Freeform, that's what I'm saying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysiumIsles/pseuds/ElysiumIsles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Murder Husbands struggle to make a decision when the chance to be parents appears.  Blood-coated domestic fluff ensues.<br/><em>But the moment she blinked up at him—that was the moment that stole Will’s breath away.</em><br/><em>She had Hannibal’s eyes.  That off-color amber that swam with darkness and so many complex emotions.  As she wobbled to her feet and held out her tiny knife with both hands, Will swore he could see some of Hannibal’s red lingering just behind her pupils.</em><br/>--<br/><em>Will turned on him—and refused to meet his eyes.  “I’m mad because you killed her, Hannibal.”  He didn’t have to stare Hannibal in the face to catch the way the man flinched.</em><br/><em>Weakly, Hannibal offered, “I was feeling quite betrayed at the time.”</em><br/><em>“You killed her to punish me,” Will murmured, “because you thought I chose Jack.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!  
> So I really wanted to do something for the #ItsStillBeautiful thing. But I'm always really nervous about posting things online. I figure I'll just go for it now and regret it later. This is my first work in the fandom, so please have mercy on my soul.
> 
> As far as the child abuse goes-- just know that it's seen in vague bruises/cuts in future chapters. Nothing too triggering as the direct events that caused said injuries are never bluntly spoken about.
> 
> Please heed all the warnings though. I've put up any major ones that'll be players later on. I'm nearly finished with this story, but as the last few chapters write themselves the rating may go up. Keep an eye on those tags!
> 
> I will try my damndest to get the rest of the story written/edited by the 14th, but I make no promises.
> 
> No beta! All mistakes are equal parts unfortunate and my own!

The thing that rushed to the forefront of Will’s mind was the water. It was freezing—and suffocating and dark and _everywhere_. Before the cliff, he had Hannibal’s warmth and the sticky heat of fresh blood, spilled straight from the dragon’s veins. The water washed it all away.

Only the endless darkness remained.

A part of Will acknowledged the fact that it was a poor decision—even if Hannibal’s eyes had glowed with understanding in those last few moments before he sent them over the edge.

Hannibal, once so skillful and sure of himself, walked with a little limp when he didn’t think Will was looking. There was a tremor in his hand when he cooked. Will’s gut coiled with regret.

Despite their injuries Hannibal and Will had accomplished what they’d meant to: they were dead to the world. Footage from he dragon’s camera circled in closed circles at first. Later, when members of the FBI spoke of it on the public record, they showed the grainy footage of Will and Hannibal tumbling over the edge.

The world could rest easy. Will went down a hero, a bystander in an valiant attempt to rid the world of Hannibal the Cannibal forever. No bodies were found. Will’s discarded bloody shirt washed up on the beach nearby. The bloody ribbons of flesh—which Hannibal had intentionally smeared on the rocks after they got out of the water—were enough for the public.

Will wondered who came to his funeral, sometimes. Molly probably cried. He hoped that she moved on.

He certainly had, he mused, as he watched Hannibal pad between the bathroom and the main room in the motel with only a towel around his waist. A smile slid onto the older man’s lips as he caught Will’s eyes. “Staring is rude, William,” he remarked.

Will rolled his eyes before he rose from the crappy chair next to the door. Neither one of them was unfamiliar with the other’s body. By that point, between all their wounds and the long nights barely conscious enough to stay alive, it’s fair to say that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham have spent too much time together to care about something as simple as casual nudity.

As Hannibal joked once: _What’s a few more bare body parts shared between cannibals?_

  
Flopping down on their bed, Will told him, “The realtor called while you were in the shower.”

  
Hannibal slowed his movements just enough to show that he heard Will—only his arms actually inside of his sweater—before he sighed. He walked quietly across the room, and a frown settled onto his face. “I suppose she tried to warn us out of the woods again?”

  
Will nodded. “Apparently the neighbor’s house got broken into last night.”

  
“And what was your response?” Hannibal asked as he tugged on his pants.

  
“I told her we could handle it.”

  
Hannibal’s belt was still undone when he turned to take in the devious look on Will’s face. Like there were hooks dragging his lips apart he mimicked Will’s expression. “My, and here I thought that your ban on hunting was going to last this time.”

  
Will spared him a half-shrug. “I just thought that, y’know, if anyone breaks into our house it’s not _really_ our fault if they never leave.”

  
“My deceitful little mongoose,” Hannibal chided, “just what am I going to do with you?”

  
Leaning back onto his elbows Will murmured, in that soft tone that made Hannibal shiver, “I can think of a few things.”

  
Hannibal’s smile only got wider. “While I’d love to—“Will groaned“ it’d be rude to be late to signing our own lease.”

  
Will grumbled under his breath but rose to his feet anyway. “You, Dr. Lecter, are a pain in the ass.”

  
“Only for you,” Hannibal said with a little smirk.

  
Will huffed passed him, and threw on his jacket as he went. “I’m not so sure I want to be married to you anymore,” Will declared, somewhat dramatically.

  
“You couldn’t stand to be away from me.”

  
“I know you’re a classic narcissist, but you don’t have to be so blunt.”

  
Hannibal caught his waist and spun him around. He brought Will’s left hand to his mouth and kissed over his fingers, one by one. “I merely meant that as I am unable to live without you, I assumed you felt the same way.” His lips settled over Will’s wedding ring. “Until death do us part, yes?”

  
Will fought to contain his blush. “I hate you sometimes,” he grumbled. “Smooth-talking asshole.”

  
Hannibal’s hand came to a rest on the small of Will’s back as he guided him out of the hotel. He murmured, “Well, _aš tave myliu_ ,” into the shell of Will’s ear. Will just kept walking like he hadn’t googled the meaning of the phrase months ago. If Hannibal noticed the spray of red that danced over Will’s cheeks and the tops of his ears, he didn’t acknowledge it.

 ---------

Betsy, a woman with rosy cheeks and a worn-down smile, greeted them at the door. “Dr. Boone, Mr. Boone, I’m so glad ya’ll could make it!” She greeted each of them in turn and shook their hands heartily. Hannibal, judging from his eye-twitch, wasn’t fond of the way her fake nails dug into the bottom of his palm. “And ya’ll are sure this is the house you want?” Betsy asked, motioning to the building behind her.

  
The porch, wooden and paintless, creaked under their feet as they ascended the steps. “We’re sure,” Will said quietly. No one could sneak up on them with a porch that loud.

  
Will couldn’t blame her for thinking that seeing the house in person was enough to send most people away. It looked worse than it did in the photographs. The building was squat and cute in that desperately-needs-a-fix-up kind of way. The house had Victorian-style arches and tall windows. It was like someone had squeezed the house together horizontally, despite the fact that there weren’t other homes for miles. The building itself was tucked into a grove of trees—and couldn’t be seen from the road. The forest stretched on for miles behind their property. According to Hannibal, there wasn’t much but national forest between them and Canada.

  
“There are plenty of other houses along the forestry line that are nicer!” she babbled as she sat. “Some of ‘em have better views of the mountains, and, oh! Ya’ll can see the river just a ways down the road.”

  
Hannibal waved her off. “It’s fine, really,” he said. He sent Will a fond glance. “Mathew has always been fond of projects. I’m afraid his heart is set on returning the life to this house.”

  
Hannibal of course bee-lined it to the kitchen. “I can’t help you if it’s not up to snuff,” Will told him.

  
His husband tutted, “While there are aspects that are in desperate need of a upgrade, it will do.” Will hummed in agreement.

  
The kitchen was large compared to much of the rest of the house, taking up nearly half of the first floor. As a result the living room and dining room were awkwardly attached. The furnishings were odd, with a framed copy of _The Raft of the Medusa_ hanging above the table but the single saddest red and yellow plaid couch Will had ever seen was sitting two feet away. Will wondered how many minutes it would take before Hannibal dumped the sad excuse for furniture at the curb.

  
“James,” Will called as he opened the side-door, “I thought you said there was a shed.”

  
“It’s behind the house, dear,” Hannibal replied.

  
Betsy was looking a little twitchy from where she was still seated at the table. She licked her lips, making her red lipstick fade a little further. “I trust that it lives up to your hopes, then?”

  
Hannibal grinned. “Of course,” he replied as he smoothly sat down across from her. “Now what’s to be done with the paperwork?”

  
Betsy immediately plunged into some legal jargon about the mortgage and something else about the electrical bills being a little different than they might be used to.

  
Will didn’t even bother sticking around long enough to sit down before he excused himself from the conversation and ducked out back. The late summer air was dry in his mouth. A breeze ruffled his curls as he stood at the lip of the forest. Originally, Will’s intent had been to check on the shed. Hopefully it had enough space for fishing gear, in addition to he and Hannibal’s little traveling horror show of “hunting supplies”. But he stopped short once he got a look at the trees.

  
Will hadn’t really been to Montana much before. But it was a nice state—just radical enough to find pockets of people who really wanted nothing to do with their neighbors while avoiding some of the weirdly overbearing southern hospitality. Will and Hannibal would linger through winter.  When spring rolled around it would finally be time to head off to Europe.  The Rocky Mountains stretched to the west with snow covered peaks and the occasional harsh cliff. The tiny town that they chose to settle down in had been seemingly devoured by the thick pines that spread in every direction.

  
More than a town it was a constellation of roads that were hidden in the dense trees. There was the occasional star of clear space along the sprawling double lane—a house, a grocery store, a gas station—with nothing but dense wood between.

Will felt like he was _home_.

  
Maybe that was just because Hannibal was there, too.

  
Will would be the first to admit that he was hesitant to broach physical intimacy. After all, his few memories of being held in Hannibal’s embrace include, but are not limited to, being stabbed in the gut, having his head sliced open, and, well, having an ear forcibly shoved down his throat.  
It started out with their injuries. Will would never outwardly be happy about nearly getting the love of his life killed, but he can’t say that he regrets having to spend months cooped on a boat with the man in the aftermath. Chiyoh was kind enough to pick them up and shove them into the tiny cabin. The first weeks after the fall are a blur of pain and bloody bandages and brushing skin. He and Hannibal kept close, near naked, for most of it. They barely had the energy to dress their wounds, much less worry about clothing amongst it all.

  
The boat’s main cabin had one tiny, twin bed. Will and Hannibal didn’t exactly have the liberty of _space_.

  
Months later, when they moved from the boat to their first safehouse, Will silently continued to join Hannibal in bed (despite the fact that there were three bedrooms in the house). Hannibal never protested or even mentioned it. He understood, and it was what it was.

  
Will, though it brings a raging blush to his face, can recall their first kiss with startling clarity.  It's the first of many shared rooms in Will's Memory Palace.

  
It was three months after the fall. They were still on that damned boat. Chiyoh was ashore—getting supplies—and Hannibal and Will were left to their own devices on the deck. With only them and the sea and millions of stars stretched before them, Will’s hand found Hannibal’s in the darkness.  
Hannibal huffed a laugh under his breath. “Afraid of getting lost?”

  
“Why would I be, when I have you?” Will’s response sounded melodramatic to his own ears. Trust Hannibal Lecter to take that level of mushiness at face value and thoroughly enjoy it.

  
His thumb brushed across the dragon’s mark on Will’s cheek. The wound had sealed over, and wasn’t scabbed anymore, but the skin was new and red. It would scar. Will licked his lips nervously as Hannibal drew closer. Hannibal’s eyes caught the action. “My dear, sweet, William,” Hannibal murmured, “was that an invitation?”

  
Will’s laugh puffed out into the little space remaining between them. “Don’t act like you don’t already know.”

  
Hannibal smiled as his right hand rose to caress the other side of Will’s face. His lips were soft, but his stubble scratched Will’s face. It was perfect. The sea breeze ruffled their hair and the boat bobbed on the open water. Other than that, there was nothing but the sound of Will’s breath hitching and Hannibal’s amused chuckle. The moment was seared into their memory palace.

  
Will was violently drawn out of his memories at the sound of twigs being broken. He glanced around as he felt eyes on him, but he only found empty woods.

  
Suddenly the endless trees didn’t seem so homey. Wind whistled through the pines and whispered against the oak leaves. He scanned the horizon. _Are there bears here?_ Will sighed out a swear.  _I bet there are fucking bears here._

  
Someone tumbled out of the woods with a squawk. Will froze where he stood.

  
She was tiny—probably only seven or eight. Her hair was a lot like his, he thought distantly, and was the same curly brown; albeit a lot dirtier. The little girl was wearing orange rain boots and a rainbow scarf. Her knit hat was the color of warm mud, and her jeans too dirty to place the exact shade of blue.

  
Will watched her curiously as she stumbled to her feet. She patted the dirt out of her jeans as though they were still salvageable. Then, with a huff and her hands on her hips, she promptly turned heel and kicked the root of a huge pine tree.

  
Even though Will assumed it was the tree that had tripped her, he couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh.

  
It bubbled across the air between them, and the girl twisted around in a panic. One of her hands dug into her jacket pocket, but she only succeeded in falling over the same tree again. Her head cracked painfully against the root behind her and, seemingly by instinct, her little body pulled up into the fetal-position.

  
Will closed the space between them without thinking. He never felt one particular way or another about children. A part of him supposed that they would be nice to have, but another part muttered darkly that the world would be a better place if there wasn’t a mini-William Graham running around.

  
“Are you alright?” he asked as he came up next to her.

  
Her eyes were squeezed shut and she mumbled a half-mewled sound of pain. Her dirt-coated hands were wrapped up in her natted hair and Will was so preoccupied by how dirty the child was that he almost missed the little knife that was clenched in her fist.

  
He lingered a few feet away, and studied her carefully.

  
She didn’t seem dangerous. Her skin stretched taunt against her bones, and he could see them clearly in the harsh angles of her face. Her cheeks stuck out too far and her eyes were sunken into her head. The dark circles that stuck to her face reminded him of the marks that had marred his own skin—back when the night terrors were at their worst.

  
But the moment she blinked up at him—that was the moment that stole Will’s breath away.

  
She had Hannibal’s eyes. That off-color amber that swam with darkness and so many complex emotions. As she wobbled to her feet and held out her tiny knife with both hands, Will swore he could see some of Hannibal’s red lingering just behind her pupils.

  
The empath didn’t have to do much guessing.

  
She was small, underfed, and dirty. Either her parents were dead or they didn’t care for her. The stench that clung to her skin didn’t leave much to the imagination for how long she’d gone without a shower.

  
She sized Will up with eyes that had seen too much. Eyes that radiated the same pain he saw lingering in his favorite cannibal—beyond them just sharing iris colors.

  
And Will knew, staring into those amber depths that she’d used the knife before. Maybe on someone who was supposed to care for her, or maybe for someone who tried to take her somewhere she didn’t want to go. _But it’s so cold and I’m so scared and I don’t want to hurt anymore. I just—I just want to be warm and safe and alive. I’m so scared so scared so scared so scared— don’t hurt me don’t hurt me don’t hurt me— please don’t hurt me— I can’t let you hurt me I have to I have to I have to fight back I can’t—I can’t—_

  
Will’s eyes blinked back to his body accompanied by a light headache.

  
The girl was still staring at him, confused now, not sure where he’d gone.

  
Will crouched down, just like he did when he was bringing in strays, and held out his hand. His other rifled through his jacket pockets. But the only thing he had that resembled a treat was one of the cheap mints that were left on their hotel pillows.

  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Will said quietly. “I just want to know: are you alright?”

  
The little girl continued to stare with those deep eyes. She slowly shook her head.

  
“Okay,” Will said, sucking in a deep breath. “Is there anything I can do?”

  
Her curls bounced when she shook her head, faster this time.

  
“Are you hungry?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  
Will rocked back off of his feet and sat down. If he appeared immobile, he would be less threatening. He held out the mint. “I don’t have anything right now—but you can have this if you want. It’s nice,” he said. “It’ll make your breath fresh.”

  
When she made no move to come closer, Will tossed the little white mint to her feet. She flinched back, but recovered quickly enough, and squatted down so she could stare at it. She poked it with her knife. The plastic wrapping around the mint crinkled.

  
“It’s like candy,” Will explained, “so it’s kind of sweet.” He motioned to it again when her eyes lit up. Apparently even someone as dissolute as she was knew about candy.

  
She picked it up with some hesitance—and then immediately popped it into her mouth, package and all. She spit it out just as quickly, and raised her knife, looking betrayed.

  
Will sniffled a laugh. “There’s a wrapper on it,” he said. “You have to take that clear bit off.”

  
She frowned again, and for a moment Will wondered if she couldn’t understand him, but she squatted down and picked at the package. There was some dirt sticking to it.

  
“Twist the plastic,” he said, making a gesture for her to tear the packaging.

  
The child struggled with the mint. It took her a good minute and a half of using her teeth to get it open. She held the mint in her bare hands with wonderment. She rubbed at it, like she wasn’t familiar with the texture.

  
Will encouraged, “Go ahead and try it.”

  
She popped it into her mouth. There was a moment of contemplation, then surprise. Her eyes locked onto Will’s, and to his utter surprise, she tucked her little knife away.

  
Will laughed. “I take it that you like it?”

  
The girl gave him a thumbs up. Will’s smile deepened.

  
Just then, from the direction of the side-door, Hannibal called, “Mathew? We need you to sign the papers!”

  
Will called over his shoulder, “Yeah, just give me a minute!” When he turned back to the girl her cheeks were still comically sticking out as she ate the mint, but her eyes were spread wide. Will held up a hand and continued to speak in the gentlest voice he could muster, “Don’t worry, that’s just Hannibal.”

  
Her head clicked to the side in confusion.

  
“He’s nice,” Will said, quietly. When she nodded, he stood up. “I have to go now. Do you live near here?”

  
Her eyes narrowed. She took a step back.

  
Will continued to hold up his hands in an effort to appease her. “I’m not going to follow you,” he said. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to know if I should bring you more candy, next time.”

  
A little smile crept onto her face. He could see the gaps of missing teeth. She nodded.

  
After he allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief, Will continued, “My friend really likes to cook. If you come by tomorrow—well, do you want to eat dinner with us?”

  
Surprisingly, she seemed to seriously consider it. She cast a regretful glance over her shoulder. When she turned back to Will—she froze. In moments the knife was back in her hands and she was backing up.

  
Will jumped a little as Hannibal silently came up behind him. “Who’s this?” he asked quietly.

  
“She came out of the woods,” Will explained. He refocused his attention on the girl. “This is my friend,” Will said, gesturing to Hannibal. “He’s nice, remember?”

  
The knife drooped a little lower. Hannibal crouched down and held out his hand. “Might I request your name?” he asked her.

  
She glanced between the two of them. She shook her head.

  
Hannibal let his hand drop. That was so like him—to try and shake the hand of some homeless kid. “And why ever not?” Hannibal asked.

  
When she didn’t reply, Will quietly asked, “Will you get in trouble?”

  
Her eyes went a little wider and she dared another glance behind herself—eyes full of fear. She nodded.

  
“Even if we keep it a secret?” Hannibal tried.

  
She hummed in affirmation.

  
“Alright,” Will said, admitting defeat. He glanced at Hannibal. “I invited her to dinner, if she’s feeling up to it.”

  
Hannibal was clearly making plans before Will even finished talking. It was endearing, in a way, to see him crouched on the damp ground in his only nice pair of pants. “We’d love to have you seated at our table, little lady,” Hannibal said.

  
Will was proud that Hannibal narrowly avoided the easy cannibal pun, for once.

  
A whistle, like one a coach might use, tore through the trees behind them. Will flinched and the little girl jumped. She looked behind herself with mild horror. A decision was seemingly made in her mind though, as she quickly stowed the knife and marched right up to Will. She held her fist out to him expectantly.

  
Will bent over and opened his palm. Her fingers were unbearably cold. The moment she had given him what she wanted, she was gone. She vanished into the brush, like she belonged there.  After the initial impact of her literally running through a bush, nothing could be heard.  Not even her retreating footsteps.

  
“What did she give you?” Hannibal asked, once she’d gone.

  
Will stared down at the dirty little plastic wrapper in his hands. It still had her bite marks in it—and the outside was splashed with specks of dirt. He held out his palm as he turned to Hannibal. “I guess she doesn’t litter,” Will mused.

  
Hannibal glanced away from the wrapper to the place where the little girl had vanished into the dense woods. “She’s a good girl,” he said. “Lost. But I see something good in her, nonetheless.”

  
“She has your eyes,” Will murmured into the wind.

  
Hannibal’s expression fell into the soft one that he reserved for Will. “And your hair,” Hannibal said, moving one of Will’s curls behind his ear.

  
“I want to help her,” Will confessed.

  
Hannibal’s finger trailed a light path from Will’s ear to his chin. “And while I wholeheartedly agree—it would be unwise to approach her too quickly.”

  
Will barely had time to agree before Betsy’s voice called to them from across the little yard. “Is everything alright?”

  
They walked back to the steps hand-in-hand. “Of course,” Hannibal said, “though I must say that we just had a fascinating interaction with a strange young girl.”

  
Betsy froze. She guiltily looked over her shoulder at them. She swallowed before she settled back at the table.

Will frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  
“That was the Baker girl,” Betsy said, rubbing her eyes. Her mascara smeared a little bit, but neither Will nor Hannibal had the indecency to point it out. “She’s, what, seven now? Maybe eight?” Betsy waved it off with a manicured hand. “Listen—that kid’s been out in the forest for years. She’s been hidin’ out there her whole life, nearly.” Her voice dropped, like she was telling a secret, “See, Mr. Baker went all crazy once the little girl’s momma died. He up and sold their house, land, cattle—everything! Went and vanished into those woods there with the little baby.”

“And they’ve just… been there?” Will asked, uncertain.

Betsy nodded, and kept her voice at that same gossipy-level. “I don’t even think the little Baker has a name, to be honest. Ol’ Ed hates her for what she did to her momma. Only saw ‘em together once and lemme tell you—he wouldn’t even look at the poor kid.” Betsy looked away. “I hear he beats her up something real fierce, too.”

Hannibal’s hand dug into Will’s arm. “And no one does anything?”

“Listen, Dr. Boone, I don’t know what things are like where you’re from, but you ain’t gonna be gettin’ a child like that away from a man like him all the way out here. State’s more worried about them city kids, ya hear?”

“That’s fucked up,” Will said, with a scowl.

Betsy blinked a few times. Apparently she hadn’t taken Mathew Boone as the swearing type. “Well, there’s hardly anythin’ the state can do with a budget like our’s.”

Will muttered, darkly, “You’re not doing shit about it, either.”

Hannibal elbowed him in the side gently and sent him an admonishing look. “I’m sure that Mathew is just worried for her safety.” Hannibal glanced out the kitchen window. “Is there anything we can do for her?”

Betsy rubbed the back of her head. “I know the Barsotti—they live down on third street—like to leave her little snacks sometimes if they see her in the area. Oh, and old Miss Willow knitted her that little cap and scarf that she’s always wearin’.” Betsy fixed her blouse. “Listen—ya’ll can do all you want to try and help her, right? I ain’t sayin’ that she doesn’t deserve it or nothing. God knows that kid would be better off with anyone else. But she’s a lost cause. Real violent, that one. Hell, Scotty tried to pick her up a few months back and she nearly bit his hand off. Had to get stitches and everythin’.” Betsy slid a pen across the table, clearly trying to shift the conversation back to signing papers. “You’re better off just leavin’ the little lass alone. As far as the government is concerned, the little girl is already dead, you know? She’s nothin’ but a ghost at this point; hauntin’ this place.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Are they ignoring her, or are you trying to suggest that the girl is legally dead?”

“Listen, I ain’t gonna get up in Ed Baker’s business, ya hear?” Betsy said, as she continued to talk about Ed Baker’s business. “But he made that girl vanish. Hospital can’t even find her papers no more.” Betsy shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what kinda favors Ol’ Ed called in, but that girl’s as good as nobody. Ya can’t go savin’ a kid who doesn’t exist.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged a look. Betsy might not be able to do anything, but Will and Hannibal certainly could, if they felt so inclined.

Will picked up his pen without another word on the matter. “Where do I sign?” he asked.

Betsy pointed out the places to sign and initial with a very, very sharp magenta fingernail. Will thought distantly of saving that little child, and making her smile. He wanted to see those eyes, so like Hannibal’s, light up with the innocence of youth. Meanwhile, Hannibal mulled over all the ways to make one _Ed_ _Baker_ live up to his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I lost the original manuscript.  
> It just, vanished??? I don't know. Fucking Windows 10.  
> I'm pretty upset. I had to start over. Updates will be steady.  
> This chapter is a little shorter, because I'm still freshly salty.  
> I apologize for the wait.

“Are you pouting?” Hannibal asked from the kitchen.

Will looked up from where he was seated on their new couch.  He was right, and the plaid lump had survived around a day under Hannibal’s careful scrutiny before it mysteriously vanished from the living room.  It brought a smile to Will’s face to think that Hannibal was somehow so upset he couldn't handle the couch for a moment longer, and had taken it upon himself to dispose of it promptly. The couch was somehow sadder looking squatting behind the shed. It was almost out of sight from the window but Will could still see one lonely arm peaking around the corner.

Will cast his eyes back to the forest.  The trees only seemed dark and imposing, now.  Perhaps if he stared long enough the wendigo would stalk into sight from beyond the farthest branches.  “She never came back,” Will mumbled.

Hannibal flipped an omelet with a little hum.  “Perhaps her situation was not as simple as we initially thought.”

“She’s living in the woods, Hannibal.  There’s no way her situation is _simple_.”  Will frowned and made a vain attempt to scrub the sleep from his face with calloused hands.  “I just hope she’s okay.”

“She’s survived a long time on her own, hasn’t she? I’m positive she’ll continue to move forward.”

Will sighed. “I’m still worried.”

He flinched a little when Hannibal silently joined him on the couch.  He had a steaming plate of eggs in his hands—never simple—topped with all manner of herbs and sliced vegetables.  “I wonder what you saw in her, to worry like this,” Hannibal mused as he handed Will his plate.

Will took the eggs.  Didn’t answer.

Hannibal settled in next to him and studied his face as he tried to eat.  “Does she remind you of Abigail?” he asked.

Will froze.  His mind drifted to a smile, and red ribbons and a heartbreaking misunderstanding.  He set the plate of eggs down, suddenly nauseous.  “I’m not trying to replace Abigail.”  His eyes flicked to Hannibal's face.  "I _can’t._ "

“I know,” Hannibal said, “Abigail will live on in your memory palace forever.  But I worry that you are trying to supplement your desire to care for a child with this girl.  Is she not just like Abigail was, to us?  Something young and innocent, but with that darkness waiting to be cultivated?”

Will stood.  “I never saw Abigail that way.  I just wanted to help her.”

“Well, perhaps not outwardly—“

“Hannibal,” Will said in warning.

“—But I firmly believe that you were aware of her dark nature immediately.  Surely you were aware of her tenacity, and its implications, with your empathy—“

“ _Hannibal_.”

“—so I don’t believe there’s a way you couldn’t have realized the truth about her all along.”

“Hannibal!”

Hannibal blinked up at him curiously as Will pointed a finger his way.  “You’re wrong.”

With a raised eyebrow Hannibal said, “I don’t think I am.  You blinded yourself to the truth about Abigail Hobbs from the very beginning. Your connection with her father saw to that.”  Hannibal stood.  “You only turned to face it when it became entirely necessary.”

“And whose fault is that?” Will demanded, suddenly furious. “ _You’re_ the one who coerced her into doing all sorts of shit, remember?  Hell—you cut off her _ear_ , Hannibal.  You made her kill Nicholas Boyle!”

Hannibal tutted.  “She killed Nicholas Boyle with limited guidance.  I’ll have you know I wasn’t even in the room.”

“You still helped her hide the body!”

“Only to help her avoid facing persecution at Jack’s hand.  I wasn’t lying when I told you that he would burn her for the things her father had done.”

Will rubbed his eyes as he felt a headache form.  “But we don’t know that.  She could have been fine.  She could have gotten the therapy she needed without feeling like she needed to hide anything—“

“She did far worse things than gut Nicholas Boyle.”

“Still, you made it so she had no chance at a normal life.  She could have walked away from it all, after that, if you hadn’t pushed her so far.”

“She still helped her father kill those girls, Will.”

“Yes, and that was wrong of her, but—“

Hannibal let out a shallow laugh.  “I didn’t know you still held on to such firm reservations about following the law.”

Will shot him a look.  “I don’t.  Not with you.”

Hannibal smiled, at that, but kept the gently judgmental look firmly fixed on his face.  “Would you go back and change any of your actions from the last two years, if you could?”

Will shook his head.  “I don’t … mind what I’ve become.”  An understatement.  Will basked in the light of his becoming.  He flayed the dragon and fell from the cliff in a baptism that would change him forever.  He was reborn—and for the better.

“Exactly,” Hannibal said as he crossed to room to start cooking again.  “Then why berate Abigail for falling into the darkness?  Are you holding onto this anger because she embraced it sooner than you?”

“That’s not why I’m upset,” Will muttered.

“Then enlighten me,” Hannibal said, cracking an egg over the pan.  It sizzled in the cool morning air.

Will clenched his hands as they rested at his sides.  _Two years_.  Year one was a collection of recovering injuries and a relationship that was slowly on the mend.  It grew, part way through, and they began to share light touches and close proximity.  They followed the development of their deaths on Tattlecrime and waited it out.  A literal boat in the storm.

Year two was smoother.  Time was spent aimlessly along the Canadian shoreline as Will tried desperately to jump over the last hurtles in their relationship.  Hannibal didn’t seem to have an interest in taking things further.  As it was their relationship consisted of flowery words and soft caresses.  They’d barely gone beyond chaste forehead kisses.

The blood helped some.  Their first hunt together was part way through year two.  A rude professor in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The moment Hannibal saw his face—it was over for him.  Will had been unsure, and clenched the gun he kept on him for the sake of protection until his knuckles were white.

 _“A necessity, to survive_ ,” Hannibal had said, after he brought the knife down.  When Will didn't respond he explained, “ _He knew me._ ”

“ _Not like I know you,_ ” Will said, nuzzling between the older man’s shoulder blades.  Relief flooded Hannibal's figure.  Will pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

Hannibal laughed.  _“No, no one will ever know me as you do, dear boy_.”

After two years of admission and love and acceptance there were very few things they still hadn’t spoken of.

Will turned on him—and refused to meet his eyes.  “I’m mad because you _killed_ her, Hannibal.”  He didn’t have to stare Hannibal in the face to catch the way the man flinched.

Weakly, Hannibal offered, “I was feeling quite betrayed at the time.”

“You killed her to punish me,” Will murmured, “because you thought I chose Jack.”

Hannibal frowned, and his motions in the pan all but ceased.  “You faked the death of Ms. Lounds.  You conspired with Jack to—“

“I chose you, Hannibal!” Will practically shouted—meeting his eyes.  “That—that’s why I called.  I wanted you to run because I knew that Jack was coming for you.  I knew that was the only way that you could—could get out.”  His voice dropped further, to a whisper, “I would have gone through with the dinner, if I could’ve, but it was too late at that point.  Damnit—I—I was going to go with you, Hannibal. I chose _you._ ”

Hannibal didn’t seem to notice as the egg burned in the little black pan.  “You chose me?” Hannibal echoed.  Grief flickered across his face, perhaps he was reliving that night, as he realized that maybe Will never needed his second smile in the first place.  If Hannibal had demanded an answer, they could have run away together all those years ago.  And, more so than putting Will in prison, Hannibal Lecter felt regret.  Rare in his life, to say the very least.

Will saw it—hiding in the planes of his face.  He quietly felt sorry for him, but he was too angry to offer his husband proper support.  “Of course I did,” Will hissed.  “I tried to chase after you, to make it all right, but then—then you were cooped up with that _woman_ and…” Will trailed off.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed.  “Are you jealous of Bedelia?”  Will hated how content he was.  Smug bastard.

“We aren’t having this fucking conversation,” Will snapped as he stomped to the door.  He tugged on his jacket as he went.  Hannibal was saying something about how _unnecessary_ Will’s reaction was, but Will wasn’t having it.

He let the door slam behind him.

The air was cool on his cheeks.  The sun had yet to rise to its full height over the mountains.  Frost danced under the morning light, consuming fresh dew as an early herald to winter.  It would snow in a few weeks.

The grass crunched lightly under Will’s feet.  He didn’t know where he was going.  As it was, his options were few and far between.  The driveway lead to the street, sure, and miles and miles of open road after that.  But it wasn’t like he was leaving forever.  He’d walk for a few hours and clear his head.  Then he’d go home.  Just like he always did.

So Will turned to the forest, so dark and imposing, and stepped beyond the tree line.

Shadows were cast from overhead.  When the sun rose higher in the sky the forest floor would be a mess of thin needles and falling leaves.  Clouds would be the only way to hide.  Occasionally, as he hiked, the sun would flit through the trees and blind him.  Momentary eye contact through layer upon layer of branches and leaves.

After twenty minutes Will’s pluse finally slowed.  He didn’t want to think about Abigail or Bedelia or Jack or Molly or  _anyone_.  Will closed his eyes.  His back hurt and his feet shifted uncomfortably in his boots.  In his hurry to leave he hadn’t bothered with socks.  The dragon’s scar itched and a worm twisted in the smile on his stomach.

Will squatted down to the ground.

He didn’t like fighting with Hannibal.  Before the fall arguments had hidden in thinly veiled threats and the occasional outburst of emotion.  One person’s outbursts left the other person with scars. The one on the receiving end was usually so happy to have gotten any kind of response that they found a way to deal with it.  _Some scars they shared._

But they couldn’t do that anymore.  Physical injuries would only hurt their chances of surviving.  If it came down to it Will probably couldn’t win a fist fight with Jack Crawford but he’d like to think that if he and Hannibal worked together they might be able to scrape some beauty out of the moment.

Without physical blows and violence to rely on there wasn’t a good way to solve their problems.  Where did they draw the line with being candid with one another?  Hannibal was firm on the belief that all transgressions from before the cliff should be left at the bottom of the ocean.  “ _They’re from a life before this_ ,” he whispered into Will’s hair once. “ _They don’t matter anymore_.”

Will argued that it was thanks to their past that they reached his point in the first place.  In some other world, maybe Will would have resisted the urge to give into Hannibal until the very end.  Maybe he would have retired to Florida to fix boat motors and never looked back.

They had to talk things out.  It never went well.  All too often Hannibal would fall back into his role as a therapist.  But that wasn’t fair to Will.  Not when they were supposed to be equals.

Will couldn’t talk about a lot of it—Abigail, for one—without wanting to see Hannibal hung.

Even if he didn’t want them to, Will knew that his emotions lingered.  Hannibal had caused him several lifetimes of pain.  And even if he’d left that life behind, it still existed in bitter memory.  He wouldn’t forget the shape of Bev’s body or Margot’s dead child or his prison cell.

Will Graham remembered it all, even if it would be easier to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Come kick me in the ass on Tumblr. @Sorryforthetrash  
> Sorry lmao.


End file.
